Green Holly, Red Mistletoe
by obliquedge
Summary: One Christmas before the war, Hermione visits the White Tomb only to find an unexpected person there. Six years later, the war has ended. Will he still be there? DMHG Christmas oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Summary: Hermione visits the white tomb one Christmas to find a most unexpected person there. Six years later, the war has ended. Will he still be there?

A/N: Here it is, my Christmas present for everyone! A terribly fluffy piece with an inexplicably changed Draco (well, Christmas is the day of miracles, isn't it?). It's rather cliched, but I have been suffering a lack of inspiration and this was the best Christmas thing I could churn out. It's not half bad, if I say so myself, even if the plot isn't all too original. I am also fully aware of the fact that the colours in the title are not exactly correct, but the title is in reference to the story. What do I mean by this? Read on to find out:)

Also, as a note to anyone who's read _Tangled Hair and Prefect Badge_, the sequel is complete! Well, mostly complete. Go to my profile page for details about the sequel, which will be a one-shot as well.

Now that that's done, ahoy mates! On with the story! (R&R please, as a Christmas present for _me!_)

**

* * *

**

**Green Holly, Red Mistletoe**

Christmas used to be a happy occasion, when people decorated their houses and spent time with their families. It was a time of festivities and celebration, overflowing with love and happiness. There was not a single way to avoid the tinsel, holly, poinsettias, mistletoe, or heavily decorated Christmas trees. Laughter was the only sound that filled the air, along with the merry and catchy Christmas carols.

Christmas now was a bleak occasion. Nobody cared about decorations or caroling anymore, not when the prospect of a devastating was looming ahead. There was no tinsel, holly, poinsettias or mistletoe, let alone Christmas trees. The atmosphere was tense and gloomy, with everyone worrying more about their lives than whether the turkey was overdone. With so many killings and Death Eater attacks, few families were complete, and the holiday only brought back painful memories of how Christmas used to be.

Hermione stood on the dewy grass, staring sadly at the glistening white tomb. Dumbledore loved the Christmas season more than anyone else, decorating the school lavishly so as to get everyone in the holiday mood. Yet he wasn't around to do that anymore, and there was no one left to bring happiness and security to everyone. Without Dumbledore around, Hermione felt lost, with no sense of direction. She had no idea how to continue living, no idea how the future would be.

Walking towards the tomb, Hermione took a sprig of mistletoe out of her pocket and placed it over the tomb gently, when something caught her eye. A head of silvery-blond hair reflected the soft sunlight, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew only one person who could possess hair that colour.

"What are you doing here?" she asked angrily at the back of the head that was leaning against the edge of the tomb. Draco stood up slowly, then turned to face Hermione. He made no reply, instead beginning to walk away, but Hermione wouldn't allow that. She ran around the tomb to get to him, grabbing his wrist and yanking him around to face her.

"Let go, Granger!" Draco snapped, wrenching his arm away.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She had never forgotten that Draco was the one who had caused Dumbledore's death, even if he hadn't actually killed Dumbledore. Despite Harry having told her that he could see something redeemable in Draco the second he lowered his wand, Hermione refused to forgive Draco.

"How dare you come here," she hissed under her breath. "How_ dare _you visit him."

Draco averted her gaze, turning his stormy grey eyes to the ground. "I know you hate me for what I did," he whispered, "I hate myself too." Hermione let out an indignant sound at his words, grabbing her wand and pointing it at him, fury flashing in her eyes. If she had expected him to retaliate, she was disappointed, for Draco only raised his eyes to meet her angry gaze.

"I hate you!" Hermione screamed, feeling tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She hadn't shed a single tear after Dumbledore's funeral, not because she didn't want to but because she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. Yet this unexpected encounter with Draco was causing all her pent-up frustration to be released. Balling her hands into fists, Hermione threw blow after blow into Draco's chest, but he only stood there, seemingly unaffected by her. Finally, as Hermione stopped her attack of Draco, she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, stumbling a few steps backwards. "What are you doing here, you murderer?" she spat disdainfully, though she could not seem to look into Draco's eyes as she said this.

Without saying a single word, Draco picked a sprig of holly out of his pocket, examining it wistfully. "He loved Christmas, didn't he?" Draco mused thoughtfully, which only made Hermione cry even harder. No one in Grimmauld Place had remembered to visit Dumbledore on this very special holiday, not even Harry. Ironically, the only one who had remembered was Draco Malfoy, the last person she would have expected.

As she looked up slowly, she saw a glisten of moistness in Draco's eyes, before a solitary tear made its way out of the corner of his eye, streaming gently across his pale cheek. It fell on the holly that Draco held in his hand, which seemed to spark something in Hermione. She collapsed forwards, wrapping her arms around Draco as she sobbed into his shoulder, and he hugged her close to him. They were enemies, but standing by the tomb, standing in the midst of Dumbledore's memory, they were a comforting shoulder to each other. Hermione wept her heart out on Draco's shoulder, clinging to him desperately as if he was the only thing keeping her alive – who knew? Maybe he was.

"I'm so scared," she mumbled into his shoulder, the first time she had admitted this to anyone. Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous, but Hermione was terribly afraid, afraid of the future, afraid of what was to come. Draco nodded, clutching Hermione to his chest tightly leaning his face against her mass of thick, curly hair. He was scared too, but not of death. He was afraid he would soon be forced to kill, to take the life of an innocent. Dumbledore had told Draco that he wasn't a murderer, and Draco believed it now that he would never be able to kill anyone.

Snow began to fall in small flakes, contrasting on Hermione's hair but blending in on Draco's. They pulled away and Draco let go of Hermione, both of them feeling the painful pang of loss as they removed themselves from the comforting embrace. Picking up Hermione's hand, Draco pressed the holly to her, before leaning down to touch his lips to hers. It was a soft, and very brief kiss, but it spoke of so many things that it was unforgettable, for both of them.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered mournfully to her before turning to his heel, running into the distance, his black robes billowing around him. Hermione stared at his retreating figure, as he left the white tomb.

---

Six years had passed, and the war was over. Christmas was once again a happy occasion, with everyone in high spirits, celebrating the first Christmas since Harry's defeat of Voldemort. For every Christmas since the one when Hermione had met Draco, she returned to the white tomb, telling herself she was respecting Dumbledore's memory, though her heart knew that she was waiting for someone else to appear. Yet he never did, and Hermione did not see him again.

There was word going around that Draco Malfoy had been a spy for the Order, and a valuable asset to the Light that had aided their victory. But nobody had seen him in those six years, and nobody knew if he was dead or alive. Hermione wanted to find out, and she knew exactly how.

That day, she stood by the white tomb, her gift of a sprig of mistletoe sitting atop it, a splash of colour amidst the white. Though she and Draco, enemies from the day they had met, had only shared one chaste kiss six years ago, the memory of it still lived on within Hermione and she had become so attracted to Draco Malfoy after it. His pain spoke to her, wrenching at her heartstrings, while the good in him shone through as he kissed her. Hermione was hardly surprised that Draco was a spy – she knew that he couldn't possibly continue working for Voldemort, not after he had shown her that there was still a spark of good in him.

The snow covered the grass, blanketing the world in white, and Hermione's heart fell If Draco didn't turn up, there was a high possibility that he was dead. He would have died for a good cause, saving the wizarding world, but so few people would appreciate his sacrifice. So few people would understand what he had to risk for everyone else, and hardly anyone would understand how difficult it was for him to find his way out of the darkness he had been brought up in. Hermione felt a tear come to her eyes, and brushed it away with the sleeve of her cloak just as someone stepped up behind her.

"I hope you don't think I'm dead," Draco whispered in her ear, reaching over her shoulder to place a sprig of holly on the tomb, and she turned round to face him. His face looked weary, and his hair a little longer, but otherwise he looked exactly as she remembered him. Hermione took in his features for a while, as Draco traced his finger across her face gently. They stood in complete silence, neither wanting to do anything accept stare at each other for all of eternity, until Draco felt a moist tear run down Hermione's cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, kissing her on the top of her head. "I'm still alive," he mumbled into her hair, his words provoking Hermione to throw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. Again, it was the only time she had cried in six years.

Hermione clung to him as if her life depended on it, burying her face in his chest. "I hate you," she mumbled, "I hate you so much." Her words held no venom, and Draco simply smiled.

"I know," he replied. "I hate myself too." A sound of bitter laughter escaped him, laughter that chilled Hermione to the bone. It was a weary, lifeless laugh, and Hermione would even rather Draco's usual snigger than the icy chuckle. "I feel so old," Draco mused, turning to Hermione. "I feel like I should have died so many times over." He tilted his head down to Hermione, taking in all the warmth and passion in her eyes, the richness hidden in the honey-brown colour.

"You're still alive, though," Hermione said quietly, grinning gently at Draco. His brilliant eyes were no more the unfeeling stony grey, but a shimmering, expressive silver, silver that resembled the blood of a unicorn – beautiful yet bittersweet, attractive yet frightening. Draco's eyes did exactly that to Hermione – they were so enthralling, dragging her into their depths, yet Hermione was apprehensive because of the depth of emotion his eyes revealed.

Raising a pale hand, Draco ran his slender fingers through Hermione's hair, brushing away a few flakes of snow. "Do you know what day it is?" he asked softly, cautiously, as if a little scared of how quickly he and Hermione were progressing. In fact, it rather scared Hermione as well, and her mind went blank as Draco asked his questions. She furrowed her brows, glancing at Draco's shoes because she refused to meet his gaze.

She rubbed her nose slightly, which was pink from the cold. "Uh, a few days ago I went to Diagon Alley, and that was a Friday…so that makes today…" Hermione thought aloud, her mind a suddenly unable to process any information except for the fact that Draco was standing in front of her, alive, Her murmuring was interrupted when Draco laughed, not bitterly this time but in amusement.

"No, what I meant was," Draco began, but paused as Hermione looked up and her eyes widened in realisation. He reached into his pocket and took out a carefully wrapped gold and silver box. "Merry Christmas."

"A present? For me?" Hermione accepted it awkwardly. "I didn't get any –"

Cutting her off mid-sentence, Draco put a finger to her lips. "Gold for your eyes, silver for mine," he explained, and Hermione smiled, opening the box slowly. Inside the box, resting on a white cushion, was a pendant on a chain. Gasping slightly, Hermione held the necklace gently, her eyes fixed on the pendant, which was a clump of mistletoe and holly, coloured in green and red. Grasping her hands in his, Draco leant towards her. "Red for Gryffindor, Green for Slytherin; a mistletoe for you, and holly for me," he whispered, and Hermione smiled lightly at him.

"It's beautiful," she said under her breath. "Thank you." Then a smirk broke out her face, a smirk that rivaled even Draco's own signature smirk. "Since I didn't get anything for you, this is to make up for it."

Without warning, Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco, pressing her lips to his for a mere second, which was more than enough to up the temperature by several degrees. Their cheeks were both pink, arms around each other, smiling with a cheeky twinkle in their eyes. They stood silently in the snow, a splash of colour amongst the white; a splash of love amongst the numbness.

_"Merry Christmas." _

* * *

A/N: Well? As for the last line, it's up to interpretation who said it, whether it was said or thought ... depends on the individual. Tell me who you thought said it? In a nice little review?

And, of course, MERRY CHRISTMAS to everyone out there! Spread the love:) (by R&R-ing! Please?)


End file.
